


Call It Wishful Thinking

by darlingsdream



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28549863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingsdream/pseuds/darlingsdream
Summary: George liked to think that he was the realistic type. He never believed in clichés or falling at first sight, they were all things that just happened in fiction anyway, right?After receiving letters of endearment from an anonymous sender for four years, and he is determined to find out who it is before his senior year is over. At this point, he's willing to do whatever he must to find his Dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 124





	1. America's Okay, I guess

**Author's Note:**

> Starting off, I would like to make the disclaimer that this is purely fiction made for entertainment purposes. I understand that in reality Dream and George are just friends and that's all they want to be! If either Dream or George come forward and say the shipping makes them uncomfortable, I will take this down.
> 
> You can also find this work on my wattpad account @darlingsdream titled "Wishful Thinking"
> 
> With all being said, enjoy!

At the age of thirteen, George believed that moving to America was going to be the end of his life. This wasn't some type of metaphorical fear either, he just genuinely believed that the twelve-hour flight from Brighton, England to Orlando, Florida would kill him. He always had an irrational fear of flying. To his surprise, he realized very painfully he was still alive because the second he stepped off the plane terminal, his knees buckled he found himself face planting in the middle of the airport.

The summer after moving wasn't too bad. He spent most of it alone, sitting in front of his gaming computer in the darkened shelter of his room. It wasn't much different than being back in England, the only noticeable difference was that even with the shades drawn, his room would still light up, and the fact there was the constant humming of his AC.

It wasn't until he stepped outside of his house, usually dragged out by his younger sister, that it hit him he was now living on the opposite side of the world, far away from his childhood life. The American air was a lot cleaner than England's, making the sun all too unbearable when it was at its full peak. George decided he hated the palm trees everywhere, too, believing they were uglier than the elm trees he remembered growing up.

There was one moment George had remembered vividly, he didn't quite know why, but it was a core memory at this point. It was the type of memory that would be triggered when people questioned him on his first thoughts about America.

It was one of the hottest days in August and his sister had dragged him to the park to watch some kids she'd been casually watching over the span of some weeks play a game with some weird looking ball. The two of them were leaning against the metal bleachers, burning the skin of their elbows off on the scolding hot surface as their eyes followed the ball carefully.

 _"It looks like a squished ball,"_ he remembered pointing out with a scrunched up nose. His sister had only hummed in agreement, slumping against his side tiredly.

 _"I never caught the name of whatever this is. It looks funny, though."_ She had laughed, shaking his shoulder. _"It looks like a pig-skinned ball."_ Entirely all too fascinated with the movements of the ball, George had yet to notice the two girls standing behind them with confused faces.

 _"Hey."_ One of the girls had tapped George's shoulder, causing him to yelp in surprise as he turned. _"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you guys from around here? We didn't mean to eavesdrop, your accents are just so cool."_

George remembered asking himself if all Americans were so straightforward right after. _"Ah, no, we're not. We just moved here from Brighton, England."_ The two girls just nodded, their mouths in the shape of an 'o'.

 _"What is this sport called?"_ His sister suddenly questioned from his side, pointing to the crowd of boys on the other side of the bleachers.

The second girl sent them a strange look as if they should already know the answer to the question. _"It's football. Do you guys not have football in England?"_

His sister, who was just ten at the time, looked up at him with a sour expression. _"That's not football, they're using their hands and the ball is squished."_

The girls blinked at the two of them before apologizing for intruding and then left them. That was the day George realized Americans were definitely a lot different than those from England. It was also the first time George realized that 'football' in America was actually called 'soccer' and 'football' was a completely different sport. He'd grumbled to his parents after finding that information out, whining about how America just wasn't normal. They were one of the only countries that used the Imperial measurement system, they drove on the right side of the road, their money sounded weird, _and_ now the sports there were fucked up too? What a country.

George knew that starting school was going to be hell. Truly, he wasn't all that worried about the grades aspect. From hours of research, he gathered that the UK school systems were far ahead of the USA ones, and he'd more than likely be ahead of them. What he was worried about was not only was the grading system different, but he'd be _alone._ George wasn't the type of person who was terrified to be alone. He genuinely preferred being alone, if he was being honest, but when it came to school he didn't want to sit alone and seem like an outcast.

Thankfully, all of his worries were quenched when he met his homeroom teacher.

_"Let's welcome our new student!"_

He glanced up to her wearily before adverting his eyes toward the clumps of crowded desks before him. There had to have been at least twenty-six different students alone in just this one room, which was absolutely terrifying. _"Hello,"_ he'd started, his voice shaking, _"my name's George. I just recently moved here from the UK. It's nice to meet you all."_

He got a collective hello back from the class, each one of them holding a gracious smile. It was pleasantly surprising.

 _"There is an open seat at the group in the back with Alex, Nick, and Karl,"_ the teacher pointed to the back corner to a group of unfamiliar boys, their attention somewhere else as they chatted. He had nodded, gripping the handles of his backpack a little harder as he made his way across the floor. He'd expected the boys to ignore his existence and continue on with their lives. 

Little had he known that his homeroom teacher practically threw him to the wolves, forcing him to sit with the most outgoing group of students in the entire school like he was fresh meat. Little had he known that those three people would become some of his most treasured friends.

 _"George, was it?"_ One of the kids spoke as he sat down slowly, his eyes flickered over to them cautiously. He couldn't quite make out the colors of what they were wearing, but he was pretty sure he had light brown hair. He just nodded, dropping his backpack between his feet. _"Cool. I'm Karl."_

The boy stretched his hand across their tables, a happy smile spread across his face. With a timid smile, George reached over the table and took his hand, laughing at the formality. _"Nice to meet you, Karl."_

 _"God, your accent is so much more prominent up close,"_ said the boy directly at his side. With startled eyes, George retreated his hand, looking up to the boy at his side. _"My name's Alex."_

 _"You can call him Quackity, though,"_ Karl quickly interjected. _"He used to say quack a lot in elementary school. The nickname stuck."_

 _"No, no, Alex is just fine,"_ Alex persistently insisted. _"I swear to God I don't need another person calling me Quackity. You know how embarrassing that shit is?"_

 _"At least you didn't get stuck with a nickname like Sapnap."_ The kid who sat beside Karl scoffed, turning his attention to George. _"Hey there, Georgie. I'm Nick but everyone just calls me Sapnap."_

 _"That's an interesting nickname,"_ he pointed out, scratching the back of his neck nervously, trying to ignore the fact he just got called _Georgie._

_"When my friend I were younger, I dressed up as a panda for Halloween one year. We were like five at the time and he was trying to say panda and just completely messed it up. He's called me Sapnap ever since and everyone else caught on to it."_

_"I think it's enduring,"_ Alex remarked, subtly kicking Sapnap under the table. _"At least Clay liked you enough to give you a cute nickname. Dude gave some out of the worst nicknames."_

After that moment, it was like the group had adopted George. They managed to wrangle his phone number out from him quite quickly, all three of them typing it into their phones as if it was some sort of race.

He fit into their little friend group like a missing puzzle piece. As time went along, George was introduced to every single friend that the group consisted of. After meeting Karl, Sapnap and Alex, he was introduced to Bad, and then Skeppy, and then Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur. His first month in his new school was _eventful,_ to say the least.

George was surprised by their crazy nicknames. Eventually, he learned that Clay, the one person of their friend group that he'd yet to meet at the time, had given them their nicknames for fun. It wasn't even until the second month of the school year that Sapnap insisted George meet Clay finally.

 _"I am surprised you've gone this long without meeting him. I get you two are in completely different classes, but still,"_ Sapnap spoke over his lunch, dropping his club sandwich. _"Come to the homecoming game tonight at the high school."_

_"The high school? Middle schoolers are allowed at those?"_

_"Everyone's allowed, Gogy."_ Sapnap rolled his eyes and slapped the back of George's hand which laid on the cafeteria table. _"Anyway you have to see Clay play, he's so good."_

_"Clay plays football?"_

_"Yep. He's God tier. He is so good that they asked him to play varsity for the high school team."_

George stared at his friend in momentary shock, the juice box he'd been holding dropping to the table. _"I thought he was an eighth-grader, like us."_

 _"He is,"_ Sapnap affirmed, _"he's just that good. Why do you think he's never around during lunches? He runs up to the high school for their lunch-meetings."_

George hesitantly, mind you, accepted Sapnap's invite to attend the football game. Despite not knowing a single thing about how football had worked, the moment he had gotten home that night he asked his mother to drive him to the high schooler's football game. His mother beamed at him, congratulating him on the fact he made friends. He'd just scoffed.

The entire group had shown up, all of them waiting at the entrance for his arrival. Sapnap and Karl pulled him through the immense crowds of high schoolers, eventually finding open seats at the bottom of the bleachers. George soon found out it didn't even matter if any of them had seats since all they did was stand the entirety of the game.

When the teams first came out, George wasn't even sure who Clay was. He carefully watched the uniformed boys run around, noticing they were all close to the same size. Thankfully he didn't even have to ask which one was Clay since Alex stood up on the bleachers and screamed, _"look at number seven! That's my quarterback! Let's see it, Clay!"_ The group around him cheered enthusiastically, Sapnap even grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

Despite not knowing what was going on, George watched the game happily. Every now and then he was pushed around by his friends as they cheered, but he didn't mind. When their team won, twenty-eight to fourteen, the crowd cheered so loudly that George thought his eardrums would burst.

When the stands started clearing out, their entire group stayed, hanging off the side of the bleachers. _"Are we going out for Friendly's again?"_ Tubbo had questioned, pulling on the back of Sapnap's sleeve.

_"Probably. Clay's parents wouldn't mind."_

A moment later, one of the football players was jogging up the bleachers, their helmet tucked under their arm. He sent their group a lazy wave, a smile breaking out on his face. He was sweaty, the sweat shining in the stadium lights. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back, his eyes wide and happy. George knew the moment he saw him that he had to have been Clay, especially with the number of freckles littering his cheeks. Sapnap had described Clay one too many times for him to not recognize the description.

 _"Look, it's my boyfriend!"_ Sapnap had cheered happily, throwing himself at the sweaty football player. Dropping his helmet, Clay caught Sapnap in his arms, twirling the two of them before he wiped his arm across Sapnap's forehead with a wheeze. _"Oh, that's just disgusting. I don't want your sweat on me, the fuck."_

The moment Clay dropped Sapnap, his eyes were on George, curious and needy.

_"You must be George, right?"_

This close, George could finally tell how damn _tall_ Clay was. He understood how easy it was for him to mistake him as one of the other high schoolers, finally. He had to have been around six feet as he practically _towered_ over George.

 _"Ah, yeah. That's me,_ " he had stuttered out, eyes wandering back to Sapnap who just smiled at him.

_"Oh my God, he actually has a British accent?"_

_"Did you think we lied about that?"_

From that moment on, the rest of his eighth-grade year went on without a hitch. He was added to every single one of his friends' group chats, invited to every single outing, and practically _never_ got any time to himself. He found he was okay with it, the way these Americans just swept in and placed him in the middle of their friend group. Well, not all of them were American. He found out that Tubbo, Tommy, and Wilbur had moved to America not long ago, but that was beside the point.

Despite the amazing friendship of the group, he found himself drifting closer to Sapnap and Clay like he was a moon that got caught in their orbit. Sapnap was in every single one of his classes and lunches, so it wasn't hard for him to slip into Sapnap's grasp at all. Clay, however, was another story. They didn't have a single class in common, nor did they have one lunch together. The night after they met, someone had slipped Clay his phone number and he'd been texting him ever since.

He hung out with Sapnap and Clay almost every weekend. They flip-flopped between each other's houses, doing whatever they wanted until dusk slipped into dawn and they'd pass out in a heap on the floor.

His year went along great. His grades were perfectly fine, his friendships were manageable, and he was happy. There was nothing he was confused about. America made him happy. 

Things were great until Valentine's Day.

 _"Look at all those candy grams,"_ Quackity whistled at his side, pointing to the _absurd_ amount of candy grams Clay was holding. _"What a heartthrob."_

 _"Ten of these are from Sapnap,"_ grumbled Clay as he shifted the armful of papers in his arms. _"He's my only love."_

 _"What the fuck man! I gave you like five!"_ Quackity whaled, slapping Clay across the arm. _"Why won't you love me back, God damnit."_

 _"Awe, I love you, Quackity,"_ said Karl as he caught up with them, wrapping his arms around Quackity.

George just rolled his eyes, wrapping his hands harder around the books he carried. He had received a fair amount of candy grams, each from a member of his friend group. He'd received five from Sapnap, however, and three from Clay, but no one needed to know that information. Despite how happy he was feeling, George couldn't have been bothered to feel _sappy_ on a day like that. Valentine's Day was just a popularity contest to see who got the most amount of candy grams and gifts. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

 _"Goggy, want to go to Friendly's with me?"_ Sapnap suddenly questioned from his side, bumping his shoulder. _"I'll buy you any ice cream you want. That sad look on your face is driving me nuts."_

Clay gasped, bending forward. _"Am I invited?"_

Sapnap rolled his eyes, huffing. _"God Clay, I can't even ask Georgie on a date?"_

_"Dude, I thought I was your only one."_

_"Not anymore. It's Goggy and I all the way."_

George rolled his eyes, smiling finally. His friend's antics always cheered him up, no matter what mood he was in. _"We can all go. Let me just stop by my locker so I can drop these off first."_

_"I'm going to head out, my mom should be here soon. Meet me out by the back of the gym?"_

George simply sent a thumbs up toward Clay who suddenly turned around, Quackity and Karl following closely after him. Sapnap stayed at George's side, shrugging. _"Not sure what that was about but I'll walk with you, Goggy. I would never leave you alone."_

 _"God, I wish you would,"_ George had sighed, readjusting the books in his hands.

When they made it to George's locker, he almost walked past it. He'd seen hundreds of lockers that day decorated with flowers and little notes, and God, he was not expecting his to look the same way. Stopping in his tracks, he stared at the three red roses taped to his locker, an envelope attached to it. His name was sprawled in neat cursive on the front of the envelope, signifying it _was_ for him.

 _"Oh my God, you have to be kidding me,"_ He gasped, dropping his books to the floor. Sapnap was quick to pick them back up as George fiddled with the flowers, pulling them off the locker and as he unattached the letter in the process.

 _"You have a lover? I feel so betrayed!"_ Sapnap yelped from his side, bumping their shoulders. _"I think I'm going to cry. Is this me getting rejected? George, I don't handle rejection well—"_

 _"Put a sock in it,"_ George grumbled, pulling the letter open. His hands shock as his heartbeat speed up. Who would have left him something like _this_?

_Dear George,_

_Roses are red, violets are blue, but I doubt you care either way since you can't see colors properly in the first place._

_Happy Valentine's Day, George. I hope that you know how loved you are, especially by me. I'm not the type of person who is good with their words, but hopefully that will change in time._

_I think you're pretty cool._

_Sincerely,_ _  
_ _Dream._

_"That's kind of cute,"_ Sapnap giggled from his side as he slipped the letter back into its respective envelope. _"Would that even count as a confession?"_

 _"Why would it matter, we're thirteen, Sapnap,"_ George grumbled, nervousness pricking at his skin. As he slipped the letter into his back pocket, he clutched the roses tightly in his hand, opening his locker and ordering Sapnap to just put them away.

George didn't want to think the letter meant anything. It was just a Valentine's Day card, after all. It didn't have to mean anything big if he didn't want it to.

He never thought anything big would come of it.

He never thought he would continue to receive letters from this anonymous Dream character for the next four years of his life.


	2. The Letters

**AUGUST 27, 2019  
** **THE DAVIDSON'S RESIDENCE**

George is halfway through sorting the piles of letters in front of him when he hears the pitter-patter of feet coming down the hallway. At first, he brushes it off, assuming whoever it is was just making their way back to the room. He continues to sift through the cardboard shoebox he'd been using to store the letters, squinting as he tried to distinguish which letters were the newest and which were the oldest.

He'd just dropped a new pile of letters onto his dresser when he heard two small knocks at his door. "Hey, George? You busy?"

He froze at his sister's voice, feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Before he can give his reply, she was swinging his door open, a tray bent under her arm. "Did you want to make brownies with me _—_ " She froze in the doorway, her eyes flickering to him before trailing around his room which was littered with papers. "What's all this?"

"Just tidying up," he tried to convince her, shoving the handful of letters he had in his clutches back into the shoe box. "Shouldn't you wait for a reply before you come in?"

His sister doesn't answer him as she steps in, her eyes tracing the floor carefully. She couches down, bending at her knees as she picks up one of the many cream-colored letters at her feet. "Are these letters?"

"Don't you know better than to go snooping through people's belongings?" He scolded her, moving across his room and snatching the paper from her hands. She blinked down at her hand before looking up at him, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"They're letters addressed to you." Humming, she grabbed yet again another cream letter. Before George can snatch it from her, she's violently pulling her arm back, dropping the tray as she did. "What's so important that you've got to hide them?"

George sighs, bending down so he is eye-level with his younger sister. "Nothing. I just don't like it when you and your little grubby hands go through my things." This time, he snatches the letter from her with force. "Stop grabbing them."

" _George,_ " she whined, sitting down on his rug. "We're siblings, aren't you supposed to tell me everything?"

"No, God no. That is not in the job description of being a 'sibling', I don't know where you got that idea," he sighed, running a hand uneasily through his hair.

"I tell you everything," she huffed, dropping her hands onto her lap. "The fact you're so _adamant_ about hiding them means they're _something._ "

"It does not," he retaliated, standing up. "Stop being a nuisance."

"Should I just ask mum why you have like a thousand letters addressed to you, then?" A sly smirk played across her face and George hated it. He and his sister were more alike than he liked to believe.

He rolled his eyes, walking back to his dresser as his sister eagerly grabbed at another letter, taking it as a win. He knew well enough if he didn't let her snoop a bit, she'd bring their mother's attention to the letters, and that was the last thing he wanted.

It wasn't like he didn't trust his mother. He did, he really did, in fact he was pretty open with her too. Just not with _this,_ whatever it was. He liked that it was just his little thing, despite his friends knowing. He was okay with their teasing but he surely wouldn't be okay with his mother's daily questioning. He could already hear her now. _'Oh George, have you figured out who they are? Why has it taken you this long to find out who they are? Have you asked your friends? Maybe today you'll find them, yeah?'_

"Can I read one?" She questioned, carefully raising the letter to the light with her tongue stuck out. Grabbing his shoebox, he hummed affirmatively, taking a seat on the corner of his bed.

With a gleaming smile, she pulled the envelope open, carefully removing the letter which had been written on decorative parchment paper. "Ooo, _fancy!_ " She giggled as she carefully unopened the letter, her eyes skimming the writing carefully. "Their handwriting is so pretty," she exclaimed, waving the letter about.

Clearing her throat, she mocked a proper accent, reading the letter aloud to him. "Dear George, I saw you at the football game last night. You were wrapped up in one of your friend's oversized sweatshirts. Am I allowed to tell you how captivating you are? You're just so damn distracting _—"_

"Abigail," George scolded, dropping his box onto his bed. With haste, he bent down and snatched the letter from his sister's hands. "That's _—_ That's quite enough."

Taking the envelope from her as well, all she did was giggle. "I think it's very sweet that you have an admirer," she commented, the smile not leaving her face, "who is it?"

As he slipped the letter back into its envelope, he shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. They write to me anonymously."

Her smile dropped into a frown as she raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean you couldn't tell me?" She looked about the room, motioning to the dozens of scattered letters. "It looks like you've been getting letters for years, how would you not know who it is?"

"I never pushed. I never knew how to go about finding out who it was," he admits painfully, dropping the letter back into its box. "What was I supposed to do, go around and _ask people_ if they had been sending me letters?"

Abigail looks up at him with owlish eyes, her mouth agape. "How long have you been receiving them?"

This time he looks away, focusing his eyes on the wall in front of him. "Oh," he stumbles over his words, his cheeks heating up. "Since eighth grade."

His sister gasps at him, sounding almost offended. He understands why she looks so surprised. How does someone go _years_ with an admirer like _this_ and be so clueless as to who they are?

"George," she warned, getting up from the floor, "it's been four years. How the hell do you not know who they are?" She looks around them, inspecting each letter. "They clearly like you... _a lot._ "

"I know, I know," he admits, frustrated. "They never leave me any clues and I don't know how to write back to them. I thought they'd either stop by now or reveal themselves and they just _haven't."_

With her hands on her hips, Abigail looked down at him with a devilish smile. "Is this why you never brought around a girlfriend, or boyfriend?" She questioned teasingly. He only turned his head from her, hoping to ignore the question, but she was persistent. "Awe you _like_ your admirer, don't you? You don't even know who it is and you _like_ them!"

"Okay, that's enough." He pushed at his sister's shoulder, forcing her back. "I made a promise to myself I was going to figure out who it is before the year ends."

"So basically you missed having a highschool romance because you were thick-skulled?"

This time he kicks her shin and she squawks offendedly. "I _will_ figure out who it is, it's fine. Highschool romances are cliché anyway. They never last."

"Oh, and this isn't _cliché?_ " She scoffed, taking a confident step closer to her brother. "You're lucky I'll be in the same school as you this year. You bet your ass that I will _—"_

 _"Abigail!"_ Their mother's voice boomed from downstairs. The two siblings froze, their heads whipping towards the door in unison. _"Drista is here!"_

With a kick in her step, Abigail waved at George, heading for the door. "I'm not done with you yet, doofus. Have fun cleaning up!" He watched as his little sister ran down the hallway with open arms, screaming something he couldn't quite make out. Shaking his head disappointedly, he dropped back to his bedroom floor, gathering the letters into a single bundle. He could finish sorting them later. Usually, if Drista was coming over Clay would tag along. It was a _package deal._

When he didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs, he took his time, gathering the letters with care and returning them to their safe place. When all the letters were finally gathered, he returned the shoebox to the underneath of his bed and made his way out of the hallway and down the stairs.

"Hello, George," Drista greeted him with a monotone tone from the kitchen, waving a single hand like a robot. "Clay's in the car, he told me to tell you to go meet him outside."

He didn't question her as he made his way to the common room, grabbing his shoes from the matt. His mother, who was sitting on the couch, raised an eyebrow to him. "You going out?"

"Guess so," he muttered under his breath, slipping his shoes on. "I think Clay's kidnapping me again."

"What a surprise," his mother laughed. "Have fun, text me!"

"I will. Bye, Abigail!" He shouted as he made it to the front door. He barely heard his sister's reply as he shut the front door, stepping outside with haste.

There parked in his driveway was Clay, who sat behind the steering wheel of his parents' used ford pickup which they had passed down to him. The moment Clay's eyes land on him, the blond perks up, waving him over excitedly.

Clay gave him golden retriever vibes.

As he jogged up to the passenger's side, Clay leaned over the middle console, opening the door for him. With a smile, George pulls himself into the truck, ignoring Clay's gaze.

"What's up?"

George side eyes him. "Nothing much. Drista said you wanted to see me?"

Clay groans, rolling out his neck. "Why do you guys still call her Drista? I didn't think Dahlia was such a hard name to remember."

"She insists we call her Drista. Why did you need me?"

Clay chuckles as he starts up his truck, the engine revving. "Want to go to the mall with me? I wanted to grab a few things before school starts."

"I don't think I have a choice, do I?" George comments as Clay starts rolling out of his driveway. The blond wheezes, lightly pushing at his shoulder.

"You never have a choice when it comes to me."

With an annoyed sigh, George shrugged. At least the comment was true, he never really had a choice when it came to Clay. The blond was a very forward person. When he had his mind set on something, it got done. Honestly, George never really complained when Clay dragged him out.

"Is Sapnap coming?" He asked idly, resting his head against the cool glass of the window.

"No," Clay returned, "he said he's busy. It's just going to be the two of us. That okay with you?"

Raising a challenging eyebrow, George turned to face Clay a little better. The blond was focused on the road, one hand clenching the steering wheel while the other hung loosely around the stick shift. His eyes drifted over his best friend for a moment, taking in his rather plain outfit that consisted of just a t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.

"I mean, I guess that's fine. Was everyone else busy, too?"

Clay tips his head, leaning back further into his seat. "I didn't ask them. Why, did you want to see if they were free?"

With a stroke of confidence, George pushed back in his chair as well. "No, that's fine," he hummed, his eyes flickering back to the empty road. "That means I get you all to myself today."

It wasn't often that he got to hang out with Clay alone, seeing as Sapnap usually tagged along with them. He genuinely enjoyed his time with Clay. He was easy to be around, always filling the silence with something comforting. The two of them had grown rather close in the four years he'd been living in America and he was forever thankful for him.

"Wow George, you're so greedy," the blond joked, a chuckle leaving him. George couldn't help but laugh, folding his arms across his chest leisurely.

"You like it when I'm greedy," he teased, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror above his head. In the corner of it, he could make out Clay's face somewhat as a smile curled on his face, his eyes flickering over to him just for a single moment before returning to the road.

"I don't know about that, but believe what you'd like."

**AUGUST 27, 2019  
** **The Mall at Millenia**

"Can I have a sip of your milkshake?"

Looking up from his styrofoam container filled to the brim with chow mein, he caught Clay's eyes on him. He was leaning against their table, his face a few inches from George's. Clay just _loved_ to invade his personal space like it was nothing.

Practically inhaling the noodles he'd been eating, he dropped his fork back into the container, pushing Clay back into his seat by his shoulder. The blond chuckled, resisting against his hand slightly but ultimately falling back into his seat. "Weren't you the one who told me milkshakes and Chinese food sounded disgusting?"

"I changed my mind," he insisted, leaning right back into his personal space. "Your milkshake is taunting me with its good looks."

With a scrunched up nose, George grabbed his milkshake, protectively covering it with his hands. "Don't be so lewd."

"I'm not, I just _really_ want a sip."

Without much thought, George dropped his head and captured his straw between his lips, taking a large sip of his drink all while maintaining eye-contact. There was no way he was letting the heathen across from him take one sip of his milkshake after making fun of him for such a weird mix. He would drink it all in one go if he had to, he'd deal with the brain freeze later.

Clay seemed to realize what he was doing rather quick as an insulting gasp escaped him. With needy hands, he reached out for the cup only for George to wack him away. He brought the cup closer to his chest as he took vigorous sips.

"You're such an ass," Clay hissed through gritted teeth as he stood from his seat, rounding the table. Humming in alarm around his straw, George scooted back in his seat, raising his knee to the blond's abdomen. His attempts to protect his drink were all in vain as Clay reached over him, grabbing at his shoulder with hot fingers as he pushed him against the chair beside him with a force he was not expecting.

A strangled gasp escaped him as he narrowly choked down his drink. Frantically, he pulled the straw from his mouth, giving Clay the advantage. The moment he dropped the cup, the other was snatching it from his grasp, bringing it up to his face greedily.

As he sat there coughing up the milkshake which had gone down the wrong pipe, he watched as his friend's face morphed into something so evilly happy. He'd half expected the blond to at least wipe the straw first before bringing it to his own lips, but he didn't. Instead, he hummed with pleasure, bringing the straw to his lips and taking a big sip of it.

"You're so gross," he remarked once he finally got the milkshake down. "That was an indirect kiss."

"Do you see me caring? We've shared drinks and food before, shut up," Clay retaliated, dropping back into his seat with George's drink in his clutches. "I forgot you prefer vanilla over chocolate. Now that's _gross_."

Scoffing, he readjusted himself in his seat, grabbing his plastic fork again. "Whatever. Enjoy the drink." With his eyes returning to his meal, he stabbed at the noodles angrily, slurping up a mouthful with his eyes adverted from his friend.

Happily obliging, Clay did enjoy the drink. He enjoyed it so much that he finished it for George with a lopsided grin playing on his face.

When he'd gotten through half his noodles, Clay brought his elbows onto the table, resting his chin on his hands. "Are you excited for school?"

"I guess," he replied through a mouthful of noodles. Quickly swallowing them and wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, he looked up to his friend, meeting his eyes carefully. "Why, are _you_ excited?"

"A bit," he answered back with an enthusiastic tone, "I'm excited for the opening game of the season, that's about it."

"Last year of high school football," George taunted, dropping his fork back into his container. "I'm surprised you haven't managed to snag a cheerleader girlfriend at this point."

He was not expecting Clay to give him such a disgusted look at his joke.

"Why would I have a cheerleader girlfriend?"

Blinking up at the blond, George couldn't believe him. "You're joking, right?" He couldn't help but laugh as he pressed his back against his chair. "Are you dense or something? I think you've had every cheerleader swoon over you, mister _captain of the football team._ "

Clay's eyes adverted to the empty milkshake cup in his hand. He picked up the cup, inspecting it as if he were busy. It was a nervous habit of his that George had picked up on long ago. He knew right after he saw his disinterested gaze to just drop it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," he replied, "'course you don't."

Clearing his throat, Clay drops his cup back to the table. "Are you excited about anything in particular this year?"

"I'm excited that this is our final year. I'm so sick of the same boring teachers."

"Nothing else?"

"No?" George replied wearily. "Why, is there something I should be excited about?"

"No, no. I was just curious, that's all."

"Uh huh... I _guess_ I believe you."

The next thing George had expected from his friend was some sort of witty remark, _not_ for him to grab his food tray from him. George watched in horror as Clay took his fork and dug into his half-eaten noodles.

"Dude," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why didn't you get more noodles if you were that hungry?"

The other shrugged, mumbling a quick, "I don't know," under his breath.

Exasperated, George sunk down into his chair. "Have the rest, I don't want to share saliva with you." Truthfully, he never really minded sharing his things with Clay. It was normal between him, Sapnap and Clay to share things. It wasn't like he was genuinely grossed out, but he _loved_ pulling his friend's leg.

With something that sounded like an offended scoff and a choked hack, Clay held up his fork triumphantly towards him. "What, you don't like sharing?"

"No, you're going to give me cooties." He shielded his face from the fork, turning his head as he faked a gag.

"Oh, c'mon George. I don't have cooties, you know that."

Parting his fingers, he took a peek at the boy across from him. He held the fork out to him, noodles wrapped carefully around the sporks. Clay sported a crooked smile as he extended the fork more toward him. With a fake saddened sigh, he dropped his hands onto the table. "Fine, I _guess_ I'll share with you."

As he reached out for the fork, Clay drew back. "Ah _— no._ We are sharing."

With pinched eyebrows, George couldn't help but shake his head out of confusion. "Yeah, I know, now give me the fork _._ "

Clay shook his head furiously, shielding the fork away from him. "Just let me feed you."

With a blank expression, George couldn't help the bubbly laughter that escaped him. What kind of game was Clay playing today? "What are you, my mother?"

"No, just faster, open your damn mouth." Clay offers the fork to him again, his hand wavering slightly.

George stares down the fork like it was the barrel of a gun. His eyes flickered around them to all the empty tables. When he was sure no one was blatantly staring at them, because that would just be embarrassing to be caught being spoon-fed by your best friend, he gave in. With slumped shoulders, he leaned forward, allowing Clay to feed him the fork-full of noodles.

"Was that so hard?" Clay challenged as he sifted through the noodles.

George nodded dramatically. "Harder than you realize."

Clay falters, dropping the fork into the container. Confused, George watches as he digs the fork back out with haste, gripping its handle a little harder. Before Clay can offer him another fork-full of noodles, a familiar voice is shouting his name.

"Is that _Georgie?_ "

Whipping around in his seat, he's met with the familiar face of Quackity. The second they make eye contact, Quackity practically _squeals_ as he beelines it for the brunette, Karl trailing behind him. Sinking into his seat with embarrassment, he turned back to Clay, feeling arms wrap around his chest with force.

 _'Help me, please,'_ he had mouthed to his friend before he was squeezed against the metal chair.

"Oh Georgie, how I have missed your ass!" Quackity cooned into the crown of his head before dropping a wet kiss to his forehead.

Out of pure disgust, he pushed the boy off him with a yelp. "You're so gross, Quackity! I just saw you the other day!"

"Our movie date didn't last nearly as long as I wanted it to, though," Quackity whined, dropping his chin back onto George's head. "You never let me come home with you!"

"Oh my God, how many times do I have to tell you, it was not a date!" With frantic hands, George shoos Quackity away like a pesky bug, Karl's laughter catching his ear from his side.

"Are we interrupting something? Perhaps a _date?"_

This time, Clay is the one scoffing as he boxes up the food in front of him. "George wishes this was a date. Maybe he's trying to cheat on Quackity with me."

"You're trying to what?" Quackity screamed into his ear. "God, you're so shameful, and yet, I still love you!"

"I hate you. I hate you _so_ much," George hissed, pushing Quackity away once again as he pulled himself out of the food court seat. "You're the only shameful person here, get off me."

Quackity just cackles, draping himself over Karl's shoulder with ease. "What are you two doing here anyway?"

"I dragged George out to come help me shop for some back to school clothes. Let's just say he has _awful_ fashion sense." Clay turns, glaring at him with a facial expression he can't quite decipher. He feels betrayed nevertheless.

"Wow Clay, taking the colorblind kid to go clothes shopping with you? That's a new low," Quackity whistles, pointing to George with a lazy finger. "He only wears blue sweatshirts and cardigans, how much help did you expect him to be?"

"You're so annoying, you know that, right?" George challenged, stuffing his hands into his hoodie.

"Mmm, I know. You like it though." Quackity sent him a wink that ultimately made him feel uneasy.

"Do you guys have anything planned?" Karl suddenly interjects, slapping a hand over Quackity's mouth with force. "Quackity and I were just going to catch a movie. Want to join us?"

George's gaze lands on Clay, who's already looking at him. Shrugging his shoulders, he whispered a quick 'sure' to the other, who only nodded.

"Yeah, sure, we'll tag along," Clay happily replies.

"Oh my God, it's a double date!" Quackity yelped.

George doesn't bother to correct him as he begins walking over to Clay, helping him gather the shopping bags at his feet.

"Let us go drop these off at my truck and we'll join you?"

"Sounds good, we'll wait inside for you guys!"

George finds himself at Clay's side as they walk the entirety of the mall back to his truck. It's quiet between the two of them, but it's not awkward. It's never really awkward between the two of them.

"Are you sure you wanted to catch a movie with them?" Clay suddenly asks.

He nods, bumping their bags together as they walk. "Why not. We were done shopping, right?"

"Oh, yeah. We were."

When they make it back to Clay's truck, he opens the back for them, taking the bags from George with care. He watches him carefully as he sets the bags down, his back pressed against the driver's door leisurely.

"I got something for you," Clay comments after a few moments.

Taken back, George straightens up, moving away from the truck. "What do you mean you got me something?"

He hears the blond shuffle through the bags for a moment before he peaks out from around the car door, triumphantly holding up what looked to be a teal sweatshirt in his hand. It had been the sweatshirt that George was looking at earlier in one of the many stores they had visited. He could have sworn that Clay was busy looking at other displays when his interest was caught by it.

Etched into the sleeves right over the wrists were hearts, which he found all too endearing. He had contemplated buying it for himself but ultimately decided that there was no need to add yet another sweatshirt to his collection of clothes.

"You didn't have to do that," he speaks, not knowing how else to react.

This wasn't the first time Clay bought him something and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Clay had this _thing_ where he would always generously spoil his friend. When it came to Sapnap, he bought him expensive take-outs and videogames. When it came to George, he bought him random trinkets he knew he was interested in and clothing. It was just the type of person he was.

"I know I didn't have to," he insists, extending the sweatshirt out to him, "I wanted to. I think it'd look nice on you."

George can't help but laugh. "You thought a sweatshirt would look good on me? I always wear sweatshirts."

"The color," Clay quickly corrects him. "I thought the color would look nice. You don't have a lot of teals."

Hesitantly, he took the soft fabric from his friend, rolling his eyes. He knew he had to accept it.

"Thank you," he murmured under his breath as he folded it back up. "You're such a _sap_."

"Excuse me for wanting you to look nice. Maybe I'll let you look like a hobo."

"Never thought I looked like a hobo before, but okay then." Turning back to the car, he pulled the driver's door open, tossing the sweatshirt onto the passenger's seat. When he turns back around, Clay is right there, back in his space once again.

He takes in a sharp breath, looking up to his friend. "What?"

"Let's get going," he murmured, quickly backing up from him.

With a hint of confusion, George watched as Clay jogged back up to the mall entrance by himself, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. Nevertheless, he followed after his friend, making sure his car was locked before he did so.


	3. Highschool's Not That Bad

**AUGUST 28, 2019  
SAPNAP'S HOUSE**

The moment George rolls up into the driveway of Sapnap's house, the front door is being thrown open. In frantic movements, Sapnap and Karl were barreling towards his car, pushing and pulling at one another. Even with the doors closed and the windows up, he could hear the two of them yelling at one another.

_"I call front!"_

_"Not how it works, first there first served!"_

In a heap, the two of them are falling against the passenger's side door. Karl's hand smacks against the window first, causing the Brit behind the wheel to jump. A blink later, Sapnap's chest is hitting the door. With wide eyes, George only watches as Karl pushes Sapnap's face into the glass with an utterly evil cackle. "I think I won, go sit with Abigail."

With a defeated sigh, Sapnap pulls himself off the door and heads toward the back seat. Sending him a triumphant smile, Karl was opening the passenger's seat door with a smile. "Good morning, George! Good morning, Abigail!"

With a groan from the backseat, George's sister rolls her eyes as she scoots across the back seats, making room for Sapnap.

"George, can we see if we can pick up Drista? It smells like _boy_ in here." Abigail whines, pulling her backpack to her chest.

Peering through the rearview mirror, George catches Sapnap turning his face to Abigail in disgust. "What, you think Drista is going to save you from the big smelly boys?" The two of them glance at one another, sticking their tongues out like a bunch of children, and George can't help but close his eyes and sigh heavily.

"Karl, grab my phone from the console and call Clay." Karl listens and grabs his phone, tapping in his password (which was Sapnap's birthday, for some reason) and begins to dial the most recent contact on his phone as George begins to pull out of the driveway with focus.

A moment later static erupts over the speakers, causing everyone in the car to cringe in on themselves. "Hey b _—"_

"You're on speakerphone," George quickly cuts the blond off, "are you and Drista still home right now?"

There's a second of silence before something is shuffling on the other end of the line, the sound of a locker shutting follows. "Ah, no, we're not. I drove to school earlier and Drista tagged along. Why, what's up?"

"Oh, okay. Abigail was just wondering if we could pick you guys up, that's all."

"Oh okay! Hi, Abigail!"

With a sigh, Abigail grumbles a quiet 'hello' in return before she rests her head against her window. A beat later in sync, both Karl and Sapnap were shouting "Hello Clay!"

"Hey guys," he replied, "picked up the whole squad, did you?"

George can't help the way his lips part in a smile. "Sapnap asked if I could pick him and Karl up last night. Quackity was going to sleep over too but I guess he left early because he forgot his stuff."

"Dumbass forgot all of his school stuff. Bad picked him up at like eleven since _you_ refused to give him a ride," Sapnap erupts from the backseat as he leans forward, slapping a hand onto the back of his seat.

"Ah right, all my fault," George said sneeringly, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, we'll be at the school in ten, Clay."

"Cool. Meet me at the bleachers on the football field."

**AUGUST 28, 2019  
** **ORLANDO HIGH**

"Can't believe he ditched us," Quackity whines at his side, tugging at his shoulder. On his other side, Sapnap and Karl cry out some similar lines before they push against him too. "You should have told him to stay with us, he listens to you, George!"

"He looked excited to see Techno and I wasn't going to take that from him." George pushes his friends out of his space bubble for the seventh time and hastens his pace to put some distance between them.

They'd only been in the high school for a total of ten minutes and things were already going downhill for George. He'd managed to help Abigail track down Dristia in the hallways so she wasn't left to her lonesome only to be hit on by a bunch of freshmen right after, managed to lose both Bad and Skeppy in the hallways, and now Clay was still back on the football field after having refused to go to their lockers with them. His senior year was already off to a great start, the only thing that could possibly make it better would be if he managed to shake the rest of his overbearing group now.

After several minutes of walking through crowded hallways and pushing past friend groups that lingered, they made it to their familiar lockers on the second floor.

The moment George spots his locker, he notices a cream-colored envelope poking out from one of the ridges of his locker and his heart practically skips a beat.

"Oh my God, _they_ got here _early_ early!" Sapnap shouts, pointing to his locker. With heat spreading to his cheeks, he reached out to Sapnap and slapped his shoulder aggressively, urging him to keep it down. His efforts only manage to fuel his friend. "Oh, c'mon Goggy, it's the first day of senior year and you already got a love letter!"

Ducking his head down, he avoids the several gazes that have shifted their way. Murmuring a string of curses under his breath, he marched up to his locker and plucked the envelope from the locker.

"Want me to read it to you?" Karl whispers into his ear as he hangs himself over his shoulders. With a stuttered breath, the brunet rocked his shoulders, pushing the lengthy boy off of him.

"No Karl, thank you, but I am actually literate unlike _some_ of you." With a pointed gaze, his eyes land on Quackity who stood just a hair away from his face. With mocked offense, Quackity pulled away from their group huddle, slapping his hands over his chest.

"I am wounded, George. So very wounded! I'm going down _—_ someone catch me!"

Exasperated, Sapnap is the one catching him in his arms, holding him by the undersides of his arm like a doll. With two blinks, Sapnap meets George's eyes and drops his eyebrows. "Read the letter before someone reads it for you."

Raising a hand in surrender, George begins to work open the envelope. He's expecting something along the lines of 'Hey, I missed you! How was your summer?' in all honesty. Dream seemed to be that type of person. Most of his letters were short and sweet, right to the point, barely even hitting half a page. Despite their shortness, George always treasured them. It was nice to think that someone out there was thinking of him (other than his weird ass friends).

Surely, he is shocked when he looks at a full page of words.

A curse leaves his lips as he turns and presses his back up against the lockers, blocking his friends from reading it. He opens the letter fully, smoothing out the creases that have been made in it from the envelope, and just _admires_ it.

Dream has written this letter on a piece of pretty stationary paper. The right corner of the page is printed with beautiful green and blue flowers, gold accents lining the entire page. The last time he had received a letter on such nice paper was Valentine's Day earlier that year. Dream, having felt a spark of creativity that day apparently, wrote him a love poem. It was cheesy, and yet, every time George's mind wandered to it he couldn't help but smile.

Absentmindedly, George ran his fingers over the loopy script.

It was hard for him to imagine someone slaving over each beautiful letter, every single word they printed intended just for him. It was hard for him to believe that someone admired him so much that they put all the emotions they had for him into writing so that they'd be immortalized. It was such a hard thing to comprehend, and yet at the same time, it was the most beautiful thing George had ever witnessed.

_Dear George,_

_Roses are red, violets are blue, you may not be able to see them, but could you see me with you?_

_I must ask you, George, do you believe in the saying 'distance makes the heart grow fonder?' It's such an old and cheesy line, one I particularly tend to try to avoid, and yet, every time I hear it it reminds me of the long summers where I'm unable to write to you. No matter what it be, whether it be months away from you, or years in your presence, my heart grows ever more fond of you. Is that too forward to say? If I were to ever tell you that in person, would you be taken back? Would it be too much?_

_I fear I'm too much, George. Hiding behind paper and pen seems so much easier. It seems so much easier to put on this mask and facade, to pretend I'm not the person I am, and spill my guts to you through ink. Do you think this is childish? Are you over these, yet?_

_I wish I was braver. I wish I could come clean and tell you who I am finally. I wish I could gather the courage to confess face to face, to hold your hands in mine and look into your eyes and spill everything I've always wanted to say. So many words go left unspoken, so many left unwritten, so many that I'm scared you'll never know._

_You deserve all the love in the world, did you know that?_

_You don't even know the impact you've had on me and my life. You don't understand how much better you have made my life. You don't understand how much you make me want to strive to be a better person, to be the perfect person for you. I feel like those people only come in one in a million, specially tailored by the gods to make a difference in the world. You're like an angel sent down from heaven, and it scares me._

_You deserve so much more than a coward telling you they love you through a letter, so I won't do that. I will tuck away those words with the many other unwritten words that are beginning to pile up. If I ever find the chance to tell you how I truly feel, I want to say those important words in person. You deserve to hear them rather than read them._

_This year, I'm going to take a chance. I can't hide behind a paper and pen for much longer, so eventually, I will rip the bandaid._

_Every letter I will give you a hint about who I am. If you want to get to know who I really am, you can take these hints to heart. If you don't, I get it, you don't owe me anything in return, and I hope you know that._

_I will be at tonight's opening football game._

_I hope to see you there._

_Love,_ _  
_ _Dream._

With shaky hands, he's lowering the letter. His heart is racing, his thoughts awhirl.

He's never received a letter like this. There was so much passion, so much _desire_ , so much doubt in just one simple letter _—_ and it had George swallowing down the forming lump in his throat. How could someone ever like him this much? _Who_ could like him this much? It was terrifying, and yet, exhilarating all the same to think about.

He loved the idea of a perfect love story, but he knew those never really worked out. Yet, this all just seemed so _right._

"George?" Sapnap carefully calls out. "Are you _—_ are you okay?"

With haste, he was folding the letter back up, returning it to its envelope. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine!" He assured his friends, his eyes hesitantly landing on them. All three of them stared back at him like a spooked pack of sheep awaiting orders.

"That took you awhile to read," Quackity points out, a smile forming on his once grim face, "what did your mystery lover have to say? It seemed rather important."

A small chuckle falls from George's lips as he pulls the letter close to his chest. "Uh, they said a _lot—_ but! They told me they'd be at the football game tonight?"

"They told you something about themself, finally?" Karl cried out, throwing both hands into the air. "Alright! Did they give you any other hints?"

"No, but, they did say they'd continue giving me hints. I _—_ I'm really excited actually?"

It felt like electricity was buzzing through his system as his friends pulled him into an ecstatic hug. Maybe he was wrong about today, because things were looking up rather quick for him.

**AUGUST 28, 2019  
FRIENDLY'S**

"Today was so uneventful," Skeppy groans as he pushes himself into one of the crowded seats, Bad following in right after him to fulfill their entire group.

George is unsure how they managed to do it, but they were able to mush ten people into one booth. The waitress that sat them insisted they could take two booths, but Sapnap and Clay being the people they are insisted they could make it work. So, there he was, pushed up against Clay and Sapnap as Tommy and Tubbo stared him down in an unnerving way from the opposite side of the booth.

Tubbo was shouting "At least we have the football game tonight" at the same time Tommy shouts "I heard George's day was very eventful!"

George can't help but stare the two down before leaning against the table to make eye contact with Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl, his system igniting with the 'fight or flight' instinct. It wasn't that he hated people talking about his admirer, but, he liked being a private person and it was just _weird_ that all of his friends loved being in his business (especially when it came to his love life).

"Which one of you said something?"

The trio looked at him like a pack of kicked bunnies as they sunk into their chairs. "I didn't!" Sapnap shouted defensively into his ear before anyone else could say anything, "okay well _maybe_ I told Bad, but that's it."

With haste, George was meeting eyes with Bad across the table. The brunet raised his hands in defense, shaking his head. "I only told Skeppy!"

Skeppy, from his side, laughed. "I _may_ have told Wilbur."

With a sigh, George relaxed into his seat, his shoulders being squished by his best friends as he did. Wilbur just shook his head disappointedly, holding his head in his hands as he mumbled, "okay, well maybe I told Tommy, but he asked me about it over lunch so I thought you told everyone!"

At his left, Clay was shifting, moving closer to the wall to put some space between them. "What am I missing here that apparently _everyone else_ knows about?"

The group falls silent as Clay's question, everyone's eyes falling on to George. For a moment, he's tempted to ignore Clay's question altogether and pretend no one ever brought it up. It wasn't like Clay didn't know about the 'love letters' he received but it wasn't a topic he tended to discuss with the blond.

There was no particular reason for that, actually. Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl tended to be on the opposing end of his tangents about the anonymous sender since they _always_ walked him to his locker. If Clay would just use his locker like a normal person, he'd probably be more informed about the situation.

Just as George is about to dismiss it as nothing, Tommy is sitting a little taller in his chair." _I_ heard that George is head over heels in love with the admirer that keeps sending him letters!" At his side, Tubbo throws his hand over Tommy's mouth, angrily hushing the blond as he abruptly shook his head.

Sapnap just _barked_ out in laughter, slapping an open palm against the Friendly's table.

"Oh my God, you had to be there!" He laughs before throwing an arm around George's shoulders. "He was literally _melting_ against the lockers this morning!"

A shriek leaves George before he can stop it. With warm cheeks, he was diving his face into Sapnap's shoulder with a curse. Under the table, he punched him in the ribs, causing the other to yelp and pull back.

"That is not far from the truth," Quackity adds in before clearing his throat, raising his voice a few octaves before he continued, " _they're going to be at the game tonight, oh my God, I'm so excited, I'm going to cream my—"_

Rising his head from his friend's shoulder, he was leaning across Sapnap's back, shoving his hand over Quackity's face abruptly. The boy blinked up at him with disgust as he _licked_ his hand.

"Oh, you're just disgusting!" Without much thought, he wiped his hand on Sapnap's back, holding Quackity's gaze. "That is _not_ what I said, at all!"

"I don't know about that," Karl chimed in, leaning back beside Quackity. "Sounded pretty spot on."

Feeling defeated, George retreated back to his spot and dropped his head onto the table, wrapping his arms over his head with a sigh. The table around him erupted into laughter and conversation, but he didn't try and listen all that much.

All he could focus on was Clay's laughter from his side as a warm hand fell onto his back, rubbing circles against his spine. "Awe, George, it's okay to actually like your secret admirer, no shame in that."

"Shut up, Clay," he whined into his arm, shutting his eyes. Sometimes, his friend group was just so tiring. He loved them all dearly, but God, did they drive him crazy.

The hand on his back retreats and suddenly, there's two hands on the top of his head. He can feel Clay drop his chin onto them, resting his head against George's as he wrapped his arms around his. "I'll protect you from them, George."

With a quiet huff, George just settled into the familiar touch. "Thanks, my knight in shining armor." 


End file.
